


Grounded

by Faded_and_Fleeting



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Both Keith and Shiro lose loved ones whoops, Day 5: Guiding Light//Galaxies, M/M, Sheith Month 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 20:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15226977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faded_and_Fleeting/pseuds/Faded_and_Fleeting
Summary: Shiro has a hard time keeping himself occupied until Keith shows up on his doorstep covered in ash.





	Grounded

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fifth day of my @sheithmonth collection! This is a little more rushed since work has been a killer.

_“We’ll be back later, darling.”_ **  
**

Shiro watches the streets from his perch, a cozy built-in window seat on the far end of his bedroom. Under the streetlights, young men in raincoats and hats bundle home against the thistly winds, while some old folks cower under their umbrellas and wait for the worst of the storm to pass. Animals dive for cover as lightning rips through the clouds, and he’s pretty sure he hears a child crying behind a low crackle of thunder.

Later, he thinks, with bitterness. It’s ironic. It implies that you’ll see someone again. It implies second chances. It implies that, regardless of what happens, you’ll always return, that you’ll have more time, that there will always be more time.

He leans against the glass and closes his eyes. It’s been three years since he’s heard that phrase said to him.

The images flicker along the dark canvas of his memories like stills from a movie; shrouded in a somber black haze that removes important bits and pieces one at a time until each image fades into oblivion and is forever lost to the annals of time.

There is only one image that remains fully intact. It is an image that he still has nightmares about, an image that he so desperately wishes he could forget.

It’s a burial service—a burial service for his parents. It’s all black clothes and nameless faces, every one of them with swollen red eyes. It’s red roses and pink carnations scattered around the grave and unfamiliar voices telling Shiro, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” It’s hundreds of tears shed and thousands of things left unsaid where the shadow of regret lies in wait, eager to consume its unwitting victims while they are at their most vulnerable.

It’s eighteen-year-old Shiro, once a bright-eyed and adventurous college student, being in denial. It’s eighteen-year-old Shiro hardly having his life together and not knowing where to go from here. It’s eighteen-year-old Shiro crumbling under the reality that he’s suddenly all alone. It’s eighteen-year-old Shiro feeling the shroud of nothingness somehow take hold of his soul and threaten to kill him entirely.

It’s eighteen-year-old Shiro deluding himself into thinking that things will be okay.

But they aren’t.

He’s barely keeping himself together under the pressures of everyday life.

Forty-five hour weeks just to barely make ends meet. Sleepless nights hunched over his desk as he studies for his fifth exam in less than two weeks. Large cups of coffee that go cold and ridiculous amounts of 5-Hour Energy drinks that make Shiro wonder how he doesn’t have high blood pressure. Questionable drinking habits when the weekends hit.

It’s the same routine every day. Get up, go to work, get to class, go home and study, and go to bed. He should be thanking the stars that he’s on summer break now. It’s the only time of the year where he can actually go a day without wondering if he’s missing an assignment deadline or dreading the moment his alarm for work goes off.

The wind outside screams more than it howls, the trees writhing and flailing as their cries of pain are carried away. The rain isn’t falling. It’s driven hard into the earth, merciless, torrential. Droplets of water are stones against his windows. This storm isn’t going to let up any time soon. Shiro stands and breathes deeply, casting one last look out the window before he shuts the curtains and readies himself for bed.

As he sinks into the comfort of his mattress, he swears he hears the blaring of sirens in the distance.

—

“You look a bit worse for wear.”

“Thanks, Allura,” Shiro mumbles, rolling his eyes. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear this morning.”

“I’m sorry,” Allura laughs quietly. “Not a good night, I assume?”

“I— Yeah,” Shiro sighs.

“Did you want to talk about it?”

Shiro waves her off with a curt, “Not really,” and she gets it. She doesn’t ask further. Instead, she changes the subject and hopes to relieve the tension that rests above him.

“Lance just made another batch of your favorite blueberry muffin bread. If you’d like, I can give you a loaf for the road,” she says.

Shiro looks down. A warm cup of coffee is cradled gently between his hands, while a fresh chocolate chip muffin sits pretty on a little plate to his left.

Something doesn’t feel right. The faint wailing of sirens has been echoing within the farthest reaches of his mind since last night. It’s a record on permanent repeat. Only, he can’t place an image to the sound. It’s just there, winding itself around his ears like a terrible lullaby, coming steadily closer. The louder it gets, the more distressed it is.

But then, there’s a soft whimpering amid the raucous blare. Shiro sits still, unsure if this is something of his imagination, the product of a sleepless night, or if this is something very real happening just outside the doors of the bead shop. The whimpering becomes louder, no longer like a distressed child, but a wounded man. Then it all stops. Silence. Then, a new sound, soft but growing louder with each passing second. At first, Shiro doesn’t know what it is, but then it hits him. It’s the low, crackle of fire and wood splitting.

His face pales, and before he knows it his eyes are frantically surveying the area around him. Allura, Lance, and even all the customers don’t seem all that troubled. It’s as if nothing happened, as if they hadn’t heard a thing.

—

The sounds follow him home.

Instead of sirens, Shiro hears the steady rhythm of a heartbeat monitor. It pierces the silence of his home. Each time it echoes in the back of his head, it’s a reminder that life is still there, that a heart is still beating. Instead of a distant whimper, the voice Shiro heard in the bread shop is more concrete. He can make out a few words and broken phrases, but nothing enough to make sense of what’s being said. It’s panicked, disoriented, confused. It’s calling for help, breaths labored and shallow, and there’s no one there to respond to it.

Shiro screws his eyes shut and tries to will the sounds away. They persist, an incessant ringing in the back of his mind that slowly tries to claw its way up to his immediate attention. The voice becomes louder. It pleads for someone—anyone—to hear it, to acknowledge it.

A new image dances across his vision. It’s a scene unfamiliar to him.

It’s a hospital room. It’s devoid of beauty as its patient is of hope. There’s no color, no life. There are no flowers or cards adorning the patient’s bedside, no homemade food from a loved one waiting to be enjoyed. The sound of the heart rate monitor is as clear as the steady whirr of the oxygen tank at the bedside.

The figure on the bed lays dormant, eerily still. There’s a tight cast on his left arm and several bandages on his face. Shiro spots the dark, blotchy red around a busted lower lip and numerous bruises that dot along the tanned outer lines of his skin. There’s even a set of bandages wrapped around his neck. His face is covered in ash.

The voice returns again, stronger than the last time. The image is ripped violently from Shiro’s grasp, and suddenly, there’s nothing.

“Please,” the voice begs, “don’t do this to me. You can’t leave me like this!”

Shiro wants to answer; he wants to tell this voice that it’s okay, but the words die in his throat.

“Dad, please…”

His eyes snap open. With a sharp intake of air, Shiro’s eyes scan the area. Aside from a couple of pedestrians on their way to work, there’s no one.

—

A couple days later he’s reclining on his couch, lazily flipping through television channels when he hears a knock at his door. Shiro glances at the door skeptically. He’s not expecting any visitors.

Another knock, this time a bit more insistent.

Shiro sighs and stands up, grabbing his sweatpants that lie discarded on the floor and pulling them over his legs before he makes his way to the door and opens it. On his porch, he finds a familiar figure. A bright red jacket hangs loosely on his shoulders. One of the sleeves is partly singed off. His skin is peppered with bruises and Shiro swears there are ashes falling out of his hair. His eyes are distant, lips pressed tight. He looks scared.

“Keith?” he blinks. “From vector calc? What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Shiro,” Keith rasps. “Can I come in? Please?”

“I— Sure,” Shiro stutters, stepping aside to let Keith pass through. He looks down at the floor. Black footprints follow Keith’s cautious footsteps.

Keith is unusually quiet as he toes off his boots and shrugs off his jacket. His shirt is a bit torn and some of the hems are burned to a crisp.

“What happened to you?” he finds himself asking before he can stop it.

Keith barely glances at him. “House fire. Electrical shortage.”

“God, Keith,” Shiro breathes, “are you—”

“‘m fine,” Keith mumbles. Shiro can hardly hear him.

Knowing that he’s probably not going to get much out of his classmate, Shiro decides to hold off on the questions. Keith still looks scared and disoriented and is not in a state to be answering anything.

He quietly approaches Keith, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Okay, I won’t ask. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Keith barely manages a nod.

Shiro moves his hand down and curls his fingers around Keith’s wrist, guiding him up the stairs and into the bathroom. He has Keith sit down on the toilet as he gets the shower running and searches for some spare towels that Keith can use to dry off. He sets those on the counter along with a black tee-shirt and the smallest pair of sweats he owns.

“I hope you don’t mind wearing some of my clothes,” he says, trying to break some of the silence. It’s suffocating.

Keith shakes his head. “It’s fine. Thanks, Shiro.”

Shiro gnaws on his lower lip, fingers fidgeting with the drawstrings on his pants. “Do you want me to leave so you can, you know, shower?”

“Yeah,” Keith murmurs. “I’ll— I won’t be long.”

“Take your time. I’ll be downstairs.”

Shiro closes the door. There’s a moment before he can hear the rustle of clothes falling to the floor and the shower curtain opening. He leaves Keith to it.

He’s pouring himself a cup of coffee when he finally hears hesitant footsteps make their way down the stairs and into his dining room. He turns to find Keith standing in the archway, freshly showered and in the clothes Shiro gave him. His hair is still damp and in need of a serious combing.

“Hey,” Shiro says, “you’re looking better. Want some coffee?”

Keith looks up at him, an indiscernible expression written across his features and nods.

“Alright. Go and take a seat on the couch. I’ll bring it out to you.”

Keith stands there for a moment as if he doesn’t know what to do. He hesitates to move, shifting on his feet slightly as his gaze remains locked on Shiro. It’s slightly unsettling, but Shiro can’t find it in himself to make Keith so sit down. He lets it slide, approaching Keith with two mugs in hand. He extends one out for Keith to take.

“Thanks,” Keith whispers as he cradles the mug between his hands.

“Don’t mention it,” Shiro smiles. “Let’s go sit on the couch, okay?”

Keith nods again and lets Shiro take him into the living room. He hesitates for a moment as he watches Shiro sit, then takes the opportunity to sit beside him, plasters himself to Shiro’s side.

The two of them sit in silence for what feels like an eternity. Shiro wants to ask questions, wants to know exactly why Keith turned up on his doorstep of all places. He doesn’t know Keith that well. They only ever saw each other in their vector calculus class, and Shiro strictly remembers Keith as the quiet, loner type that never talked to anyone unless it was for group discussion. And even in those discussions, Keith never said much.

After a moment, Shiro breaks the silence. “Do you want to tell me some of what happened?”

Keith inhales sharply and looks down, gaze fixed on the floor. “I don’t…know,” he admits. “It all happened so quickly, I just— One moment, my dad and I are working on upstairs renovations and the next, there’s smoke and the entire house is in flames. My dad and I tried to find a way out and— Oh, god,  _Dad_.”

Shiro takes both of their coffees and sets them on the coffee table the moment he sees a tear slip down Keith’s cheek. He watches as Keith leans forward and buries his face into his hands and just sobs.

“Dad, he— He wasted so much of his time trying to get me out that he— God, this can’t be happening. This isn’t happening!”

Shiro doesn’t know what exactly comes over him in that moment. He slides an arm around Keith’s shoulders and pulls his trembling form impossibly close. He doesn’t ask anything else and lets Keith cry it out for as long as he needs because he knows. He knows exactly the kind of loss Keith is experiencing and isn’t going to let him go through it alone like he did.

“Deep breaths, Keith. Deep breaths,” Shiro utters. “You don’t have to go into super heavy details right now. I get it. I do. Just breathe.”

“Shiro, I— My dad is—”

“Shh,” Shiro hushes him. “Breathe, Keith. Just breathe.”

—

He doesn’t get much sleep that night.

He’s just turning off his desk lamp when he hears quiet footsteps and the slow creak of his door as it’s pushed open. Shiro glances over and spots Keith in his doorway, hair disheveled, eyes downcast.

“Keith?” he squints. “What are you doing up? It’s only two o’ clock.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Keith whispers. “Bad dream. I thought that maybe— I… Can I just stay in here?”

Shiro hums quietly and stands, crossing the room until he’s just a few feet away from Keith. He doesn’t need Keith to say anything else. Leads Keith over to the bed and has him lay down on it. Shiro crawls into the empty space next to Keith and hardly settles before he’s got an armful of his classmate.

“Thanks,” Keith mutters.

“No problem,” Shiro assures him. “Just get some sleep.”

Keith shakes his head. “Not right now. Can you just talk to me? I need the distraction.”

“Alright,” Shiro says. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“I don’t know,” Keith shrugs. “Anything, really. I just need to get my mind off of, well, everything.”

Shiro sighs. “Well, we could always talk about school.”

“School? During the summertime?” Keith deadpans.

“Well,” Shiro days in his defense, “we never really talked outside of class. I’ve only seen you in a couple of my physics classes and aside from the occasional, ‘hi,’ you never said a word to me unless it was during group discussion.”

Keith deflates. “Am I really that quiet?”

“You are.”

Keith shifts, rolling onto his back as his eyes gaze up at the ceiling. The shadow of a tree dances across his vision. “I guess I am. I don’t know. I’m just not good with people, I guess. I never really know what to say.”

“Well let’s start with some simple question: what are you majoring in?”

“Astronomy.”

“And why did you decide to study astronomy?”

“What is this, twenty questions?” Keith huffs.

“You said to talk, so I’m talking,” Shiro chuckles.

“Fine,” Keith rolls his eyes. “I chose to study astronomy because I’ve always loved the stars, and I wanted to really push the boundaries of my understanding of some of life’s biggest questions.”

“That’s pretty deep.”

“Yeah, well, I apparently got it from my mom. She always loved to question everything in sight. A modern-day Socrates, if I have any say.”

“So she was that kind of person, hm?”

Keith smiles as he nuzzles into his pillow. “Yeah. She used to drive my dad nuts.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Yeah,” Keith trails off. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Shiro asks.

“What do you study?”

“Astronomy.”

“So we’re basically one and the same. Why don’t I ever see you in any of my classes?”

Shiro shrugs. “I work during the day. I only ever have time for night classes.”

“Don’t you get tired?” Keith asks, pursing his lips.

“Well, yeah, I get tired, but that’s what the weekends are for,” Shiro grins. “I do my sleeping then.”

“That’s not good for you.”

“And that’s what the summertime is for. Catching up on missing sleep while regretting every decision I ever made to take on full-time work and school.”

Keith smacks his arm lightly. “That’s not any better.”

“Really?” Shiro reaches over to lightly tug at a strand of Keith’s hair. “And what would you know Mr. I-like-to-doodle-instead-of-taking-notes?”

Keith pales slightly. “You noticed that?”

A triumphant grin spreads across Shiro’s lips. “I did. You never really pay attention when we’re not talking about the heavy stuff, and then you panic when exams come around.”

“But that’s because those exams are rigged!” Keith pouts. “The teachers are always like, ‘Oh, only the things we’ve discussed in class will be on the exam,’ but then you look and there are about fifteen other topics on there that we haven’t even covered!”

“The only class I’ve had like that is Professor Iverson’s. He’s… He’s something, alright,” Shiro chuckles.

“God, I hate him so much. He’s always picking on me during his lectures.”

“That’s because you’re always doodling during his lectures.”

“Am not!” Keith scoffs.

“Are so,” Shiro sasses back.

Keith groans as he turns onto his side and shoves his face into Shiro’s chest, cheeks heating in a flush. He knows he’s not going to win this debate because he knows Shiro is right. It’s just weird to him that Shiro has been so observant this entire time and has been watching him when he thought no one else was.

“I hate you,” he mumbles weakly. Shiro just laughs, and his heart feels a little lighter.

Nightly pillow-talks afterward are how Shiro and Keith become good friends.

—

A week later, Keith insists that Shiro goes with him to his father’s funeral. He doesn’t think he can do it by himself.

Shiro goes without question.

—

As it turns out, Keith has nowhere else to stay. Shiro is more than happy to let Keith stay in his house for the time being, but it doesn’t come without a small price.

Since Shiro usually works during the day, Keith stays at home and tidies up the house. He even offers to have dinner ready for Shiro whenever he comes home. Shiro says it isn’t necessary, but Keith insists.

“You’re letting me stay here. Let me do something for you.”

Shiro can’t argue with Keith. Once he’s set on doing something, there is absolutely no turning him around. It’s something Shiro has come to find rather endearing over the few weeks Keith has been with him. It can also be a pain in the ass when it comes to deciding on what they want to order on takeout night.

He takes Keith to the bread shop with him every weekend for coffee and muffins. Keith takes an immediate disliking to Lance the minute the kid comments on his hair and finds every way to take a jab at him. Allura immediately takes a liking to Keith and bombards him with questions. Keith isn’t quick to open up to her and keeps himself closely plastered to Shiro’s side whenever they leave the house.

Shiro understands.

—

“You know,” Keith says one day. He’s curled up beside Shiro on the sofa, while Shiro lazily goes through his Netflix watch list. “I never really did give you a proper thanks.”

“Thanks for what?” Shiro asks, not taking his eyes off the television.

“Everything,” Keith murmurs. “You let me in, you didn’t ask too many questions. You really just let me be until I was ready to talk about things. You actually talked to me when I wanted to talk. You’re letting me stay here without question and I— God, Shiro, you’ve been doing so much for me and I haven’t even thanked you for it.”

“You don’t have to, Keith,” Shiro tells him gently. “Everything I did, I did by my own choice. I never felt any of this to be an obligation, and neither should you.”

Keith purses his lips slightly. “But I just—”

“Nope,” Shiro grins. “Don’t even try it.”

_“Shiro.”_

Shiro outright laughs, a joyous sound that makes Keith heart shudder. He grips Shiro’s chin and turns his head, bringing their lips together in a soft kiss. The world immediately falls away. He’s briefly reminded of the day Shiro let him in. Of the way Shiro has been nothing but gentle and understanding with him. He remembers that first night and the casual talk they had, and he smiles as he pulls away.

“What was that about?” Shiro asks, sounding slightly breathless. There’s no malice to be detected anywhere.

“A bit of thanks,” Keith offers as his response.

“Thanks?”

“Yes, thanks,” Keith affirms. “For staying by me and keeping me grounded when I was about to break. I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

“Well, do you want to know what I think about that?”

Keith can hardly get a word out before Shiro’s kissing him again.


End file.
